


Sanguis In Nomine Gloriae

by theficisalie



Series: Night Dust [6]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-25 09:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/pseuds/theficisalie
Summary: Gerard wakes up. His new life is not quite what he expected.





	1. Bulletproof

**Author's Note:**

> Latin translation by [inabathrobe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inabathrobe), an excellent friend. General inspiration provided by [thedreadedlaramie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thedreadedlaramie)... she's who you have to thank for giving me the moxie to start writing again.
> 
> To those who comment so faithfully: you guys are the reason why I never forgot what comes next.

Of all the places Gerard had expected to wake up in, a white box of a room with no windows or doors had not been on the list. He’d also expected more blood to be coming from under his chin, where Korse had shot him. It seemed, however, like all he was going to get for his efforts of traveling to the grave and back were a blinding fucking headache that refused to subside.

The room itself seemed to be entirely empty. There were no drains on the floor, and there were no lights he could see on the ceiling even though it glowed somehow: the only things in the room, aside from him, were the cot he’d woken up on and a pair of small, rectangular holes in the wall.

When he decided to brave the splitting pain in his head to poke around the small space, what he received for his labours were the knowledge that there seemed to be no escape from this room and a gentle _ding_ from the hole in the wall, which preceded a cup containing a pill. It came from wherever the hole’s source was, and upon further inspection, Gerard discovered that the hole was a tube two fingers wide that went up... _somewhere_.

The little pill, when Gerard peeked into the cup to examine the capsule, was white and innocent-looking. The colour could have meant anything, but Gerard was fairly certain that it probably had some kind of emotion dampeners in it along with whatever-the-fuck-else BLI was trying to get him to take.

He walked away from the pill and lowered himself onto the cot. The moment he was sat down, the soft glow from the ceiling dimmed enough for Gerard to make out the words glowing through the formica-like surface in large block type:

_TAKE YOUR PILLS  
OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES._

“Yeah fucking right,” Gerard muttered.

He winced when the sound of his own voice in his ears drove a spike into his frontal lobe and decided he should probably shut the fuck up, so he leaned his head back against the wall and tried not to die.

 

* 

 

Gerard dreamed that he was flying.

In the dream, he wasn’t himself: he didn’t have arms or legs or hair and he wasn’t chained to the earth by the tips of his toes. He wasn’t a bird either, not one of the mottle-feathered beasts that preyed on the dead, not one of the white spirits that flashed as bright as a smile in the noonday sun, not the slick black flappers that hid in the shadows of the city and only came out when they knew nobody was waiting to stick them with a knife.

In the dream, he wasn’t anything, but he was somehow everything. That spirit of nothing he’d felt before in the light kiss of wind against his cheek, in the cool light of an early morning, in the sweat that poured down his back, trapped between the leather of his jacket and the sticky surface of his skin.

He was the beat of a kick drum in his pounding head, and the swirl of dust that rose when someone stood in a dimly lit room.

Gerard soared, in that nothing, through that everything; past the shinysharp corners of buildings, through the foggy glass of the buildings, through a cloud of heady smoke, higher and higher until the low lying gas stations and shacks in the zones were nothing more than specks, until he could see the ocean stretching as far as the earth was round.

It felt exhilarating, being up in the atmosphere. All he had to do up there was exist.

And yet it didn’t feel like enough. It was like he was missing something up there in the clouds as he flew far away from his problems and his soul.

The weightlessness of his bones was too much: it overcame him like the wash of a flood, stripping him of everything that he’d fought for and won --

Lightning cracked, a strip of white light that flew down and in, a white hot jackhammer that struck a metal pole on the roof of Better Living Industry’s C Tower, down down the strip of aluminum that toasted as the energy flowed, burning into the tar of the roof as it carried that spark through a pipe, down a pole, past a wire that wasn’t supposed to be there and into a computer, where something

important

_fried._

Gerard felt the lights of the building extinguish themselves, felt the overwhelming surge of static flow away from the building, with BLI’s communications mainframe down. He felt the cries of anguish from a crowd of doctors who had forgotten to save their files, felt the hard glint of a pair of black eyes, and the sharp sound of a sword as it sliced through a spinal cord.

The woman swore, the words harsh and unfamiliar, and Gerard heard it through the pipes as he woke up in the absolute black of whatever room he was in.

He sat up, head still pounding but in a gentle headachey kind of way. He twisted his head to the side, trying to relieve the pinched feeling in his neck.

Light cut through his eyelids the next moment and made him cringe, curling into a ball to protect his face. He had the presence of mind to open his eyes as soon as he felt like he could see, and there, in the corner of the room, was an empty square where there had once been wall.

It was a door.

An _open_ door.

An open door that, when the lights flickered, started to _slide shut_.

“Fuck,” Gerard swore, scrambling to get up and across the room. A wave of pain tried to level him but he stumbled forward, willing his body to keep walking even as gold sparks washed his vision out to a blinding white.

The door’s soft hiss seemed to be mocking him when he slipped on the floor and had to steady himself with a hand on the strangely warm wall.

“No,” he said, hating the way his voice was just this side of too weak as the door slid home, leaving no trace of its existence save for the slightest crack Gerard could now see in the corner of the room.

He took as deep a breath as his clenching lungs would allow and forced himself to get his bearings. The room looked the same as it had before, with one wall still showing those soft words. When he adjusted his footing, he realized that his feet were bare on the weird plastic floors, and that his boots were nowhere to be seen.

Actually, none of his clothes were anywhere he could see.

The ones he’d been wearing when Korse had shoved that gun under his chin --

_“That’s right, dead. You’ve got a link to that strange social network outside of the buildings, don’t you Gary?”_

_“I, uh, well, yes? I uh, I work in customer service?”_

_“Good you’ll have to--”_

He fell to the floor, trying to hold his head together through the sheer force of his will --

_“-- room C4305, put him in the --”_

_“-- but that’s the one with the screens --”_

_“-- are you arguing with me, soldier?”_

_“No, I just mean, he’s a criminal, are we really going to waste our resources on scum like this? Sir?”_

_“Because it sounds like you’re arguing with me, soldier.”_

_“No, sir, I’m just --”_

_“You know what happens when you things argue with me.”_

_“Sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll move him. If you’re sure.”_

_“You think She trusted me with this project for no reason? You’re not here to ask questions. Just do what I say, soldier. If She wanted you to question me, She would have put you through higher training.”_

_“Yes sir. Of course, sir. Don’t...please don’t tell her, sir.”_

_“I’ll tell her whatever I want, you ignorant little --”_

\-- as light flashed behind his eyes, bright enough to burn. His voice ripped out through his throat, trying to escape, leaving only scars behind until he was hoarse --

_“-- what the fuck do we do with this disgusting jacket, it’s --”_

_“Frame it. Someone’ll get a kick out of that.”_

_“Beckett, you mean.”_

_“Right. Give him the little guy’s vest too, he wanted to kill that sorry fuck years ago.”_

_“Are you two swearing in here? Rule 549, Section 2, 3rd Amendment says no swearing. The Company monitors these buildings closely.”_

_“Sorry, sir.”_

_“Won’t happen again sir.”_

_“Better not. You know your behinds are under my jurisdiction, and I’m to blame if anything happens, and if I get blamed, you get dead --”_

Gerard panted, trying to escape the feeling of a plastic bag closing over his face. He was sweating, he realized, when he could look away from the palms of the hands he’d pressed tight to his eyes.

“Awake are we, Party Poison?”

The voice came from _above_. It made Gerard jump in his skin, sounding so familiar, and the wry chuckle that followed the mention of his codename made his eyes roll back in his head.

Everything went shiny black and when Gerard came to, there was a neatly pressed stack of white clothes sitting on the floor in front of him.

He considered them for about half a second before nearly tearing the fabric in his haste to cover himself. His time in the desert and the years before that had taught him that clothes were one of his best defenses against the outside world and the people who lived in it.

He looked up when the white t-shirt was guarding his chest and shoulders and the strange light material of the pants shielding his legs, to the wall that now read:

_TOO EASY._

He was still half-crouched on the ground. He stared at the mocking type and it struck him then, how he must have looked as he’d scrambled with a wild hunger in his eyes for the controlled protection that clothing offered. Like an animal, like something sub-human. And BLI had barely had to lift a finger.

_The Company monitors these buildings closely._

A long shiver ran down his spine and nausea twisted his clenching his gut into knots at the thought of them watching him. He was hungry too; coming back had made his stomach stab him in the abdomen with a surprising viciousness last time as well, but he wasn’t going to ask for food now, not ever.

He sat back on his heels. The wall had the text about pills on it again, like Gerard was a fucking idiot and didn’t remember the last time he’d taken them without Mikey’s sanction.

What would Mikey do in this situation? Probably control his breathing, do some sit-ups, maybe practice his kung fu and his awesome engineered and trained reflexes.

Gerard found himself a corner, sat on his ass, and shouted at the wall.

“I’m not going to take your fucking happy-poppers,” he shouted.

“You can shut the fuck up about your pills,” he added, also in a shouting kind of tone.

“Can’t break me, motherfuckers,” he muttered. He closed his eyes for half a second, and then peeked one open to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t. He closed his eyes again.

The ceiling dinged lightly.

 _“Attention, citizens. We would like to apologize for the recent blackout. It is important to remain courteous even in times of distress,”_ it said, in the pleasant female voice that Gerard remembered from adverts that had played on his and Mikey’s BLI-issue television in the apartment they’d lived in before leaving the City.

The wall in front of Gerard got brighter and the ceiling dimmed gently. He squinted, eyes struggling to adjust to the soft changes in lighting. Were things moving on the wall?

_“Clocks must be adjusted to reflect the momentary loss in time. It is important to remember to pay attention to what time it is, citizens.”_

Gerard shaded his eyes and adjusted his seating on the ground as the picture on the wall cleared. An empty white hallway came into focus, so weirdly clear that it was like looking through a window. There wasn’t any system of projection that Gerard could see, just the formerly-white surface of the wall: what the fuck were these rooms made of?

_“It may have come to your attention that some of the building’s higher electrical functions were reversed during the blackout, but they have all been restored.”_

Someone rounded the corner that Gerard’s wall camera was apparently facing; a slight figure dressed all in white. Their arms were shockingly dark in the otherwise monochromatic landscape, and that coupled with the ink-black hair on the top of the person’s head made Gerard blink.

They were running, crouched in a way that reminded Gerard of the curve of Frank’s spine after he’d been shot in the desert --

And as the figure came closer, Gerard stared at the face on the screen, not even noticing that he was standing until he was a foot away from the wall and it was Frank, running towards him. Or rather, towards the camera.

Where the fuck was Frank? Gerard remembered catching a glimpse of the hall outside his room and it had been white, and _fuck_ , Frank had gotten a shirt and pants just like Gerard had, only apparently a lot earlier, and he must have slipped out of his room the second the door had opened. Always on his toes, ready for action, unlike Gerard who was stuck here by himself and who had _not_ had the presence of mind to move even a tiny bit fucking faster.

“Go,” Gerard whispered as Frank whipped past the camera. The picture changed suddenly, to a sliver of hallway that showed him a side glimpse of Frank for a split second. It was like being in a movie, with the picture changing and following Frank’s progress until Frank skidded to a halt in the middle of the frame. He was panting, and the image quality was so good that Gerard could see the lines under his eyes, and the drops of blood on the white floor behind him.

Frank slid his legs apart, eyes darting around and when Gerard turned to see what Frank was looking at, he saw that the adjacent wall had a second image on it, and that was of the flock of Scarecrows at the end of the hall.

“No, no,” Gerard muttered.

_“You may have noticed a handful of insurgents wandering the halls. If you are a member of either our medical or research crews, pay them no heed. If you are a member of our security force, please disable the insurgents and return them to their cells. It is important that we all cooperate.”_

“Frank,” Gerard whispered. The man in front of him looked like a caged animal: his eyes were wild, his hair was unruly, his face was unshaven which made him look really rough and his pose looked trapped, but Gerard knew that beneath those bent shoulders, Frank was ready to strike.

Still, there were at least ten Crows at the end of the hall, and Gerard could see, on a third camera to his left, another group of Crows marching a stranger to a room just like Gerard’s, which meant that they’d be free to get Frank soon enough.

“Fucking _run_ ,” Gerard whispered, willing Frank to turn around and go back the way he’d come, hoping that for once in his life, Frank would surrender instead of fighting.

One of the Crows stepped forward, and Gerard could see the tension leave Frank’s face as Fun Ghoul took over. Everything seemed to slow down for a second and then Frank was using the Crow’s movements to smoothly flip the thing, which had to be almost twice Frank’s size, over his shoulder. On its way down, Frank twisted its arm and Gerard heard the sound of the Crow hitting the ground. Its fellows were moving to help it but Frank stepped on the Crow’s neck and in the same motion whirled around with a high kick to the throat of the Crow trying to grab him.

It choked, and Frank tore the white gun from its grip, using the momentum of pulling to overbalance the Crow. He hit high and low, using his hands and the Crows’ own actions to protect himself. This wasn’t like that time he’d taken out three Crows in the tunnels, when the Crows had learned as they fought, because Frank was adjusting his stance and actions based on the Crows he couldn’t possibly see, until he was left alone in the hallway, hands still raised, in a pile of bodies.

They weren’t all dead: Gerard could see one of them moving, but evidently Frank had incapacitated it enough because he was running in the next second, ducking around a corner, his breathing barely laboured. He had to stop again though, because a handful of Crows with automatic flashers were marching towards him.

“Hands up, insurgent,” one of them said, through the crackle of getting its voice to work. “Behind your head.”

“Surrender or die,” another gargled.

Frank looked over his shoulder and saw a second team coming up behind him. “Fuck,” he muttered, and it was the first time Gerard had heard his voice in what felt like forever. It was rough and hoarse, but it stupidly gave Gerard a little kick of hope.

“March, insurgent,” a Crow said.

“Get your goddamned guns away from me,” Frank muttered, walking on their command and scowling when they adjusted their grips on their guns, the plastic clicking with the movement. “I’m fucking _going_ al-fucking-ready.”

“Swearing is frowned upon,” a Crow said.

Frank spat on the ground when the Crows marched him around their fallen comrades, muttering hesitantly in their halting language. His face was small and dark as he walked away from the camera and muttered: “So fucking kill me, then.” Suddenly, he grinned, fierce and so alive. “Or should I say... you can fucking _try_?”

The wall flickered, the images disappearing to the sound of Frank’s laugh as the wall went white once more, leaving Gerard alone in the empty room.


	2. Heart

The lights dimmed sometime after the hole in the wall dropped a second pill that Gerard ignored. He wasn’t going to take their pills. He had no idea what the little white thing could contain and he vividly remembered the blood and vomit from the last time he’d taken anything the Company was peddling.

As the lights slowly dimmed, Gerard noticed that the wall was displaying words again, in that neat, crisp type that made shivers crawl up his spine.

 _TAKE YOUR PILLS_ it read.

“I’m not going to take that shit,” Gerard muttered. He was hungry, fucking _starving_ even, but there was no way the pill was truly an innocent food supplement anyway. At this point it was worth it to avoid them. He slept fitfully on the tiny cot, barely a few hours of rest, but it was enough to take the rest of his headache away, which was good, because he was starting to get a separate fucking migraine from the monochromatic room.

When he woke up, the room was still dark, but the wall had the same type it had before Gerard had gone to sleep.

“Fuck you,” Gerard muttered, rolling onto his back. He should probably do some pushups or something, but he didn’t feel well-rested even though he’d slept. In fact, he felt really fucking exhausted. Like he’d been drained while he’d been sleeping, whic, the whole body-rebuilding-itself-without-sustenence thing might explain.

When he looked back at the wall this time, the type had changed.

_DO YOU ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES  
OF YOUR ACTIONS  
PARTY POISON?_

“Do I accept,” Gerard scoffed. “What the fuck are you going to do, kill me again? I hate to break it to you, wall, but it doesn’t fucking work!”

 _NO_ , the type on the wall said. _WE ARE NOT GOING TO KILL **YOU**._

Gerard propped himself up on his elbows but the words faded out as the ceiling lights came on.

 _TAKE YOUR PILLS  
OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES_, the wall read in the last moment that Gerard could actually still read the type.

“What the fuck ever,” Gerard said.

The rest of the light cycle seemed to stretch from where Gerard was sitting into eternity. He was steadily getting hungrier and hungrier, but from his years in the desert he knew exactly how long he could last without much or any food. The only thing that was worrying him as he got up and practiced his jerky, Mikey-copying kung fu, was water. There were no irradiated rivers in this room, no long lost and new found bottles in the trunks of old beaters. At least it wasn’t overly hot in the enclosed space, but Gerard found that even the tragic little bit of exercise exhausted him to his core and he had to sit down again.

His lips were chapped, his throat was dry, and he had a serious case of dust-mouth, like he had when he and Mikey had gotten trapped in that sandstorm in the AM that one time, or like the time Rip had insisted that his new formula was guaranteed to make the walls spin and the music live in his bones without parching the soul. It hadn’t: Gerard had felt tongue-sticky for days after that, no matter how much water he drank or how many cans of beans he’d scarfed down trying to chase the taste out of his mouth.

By the end of the cycle, as the lights dimmed, Gerard could practically feel himself fading away into nothing. The wall was flashing its advert about pills again and Gerard lay down on his cot and tried not to cry.

_TAKE YOUR PILLS, PARTY POISON._

It hit him just as he sat up to maybe spit a new and creative insult at the wallscreen: when he'd lived in the City, he'd used water to swallow his pills. Out in the desert he usually tried to take them dry, in case they needed the water later, but here, where everyone was reasonably civilised...

Gerard bit his lower lip and went across the room. It could be nothing, the pill in the cup. It could be sugar. Or it could be one of those pills that Frank had said the company gave to Scarecrows to wipe their minds clean like slates. Was water worth the fucking risk?

Gerard stared into the tiny white cup and sighed. He’d been killed by laser blasts to the head, and a laser blast right to the brain, and a handful of white pills whose memory made him shudder. What did he really have to lose?

“Here goes fucking nothing," he muttered, and put the pill in his mouth. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then Gerard heard a gentle hiss coming from the second hole. He reached out and leaped back in surprise when his hand got suctioned up.

_THE COMPANY WOULD APPRECIATE  
IF YOU USED THE TRASH CHUTE  
PARTY POISON_

Gerard raised an eyebrow at the wallscreen as the words changed.

_CLEAN LIVING  
IS BETTER LIVING_

Bunch of fucking snot-nosed bastards.

“Do I get any fucking water with this?” Gerard asked, putting the pill cut up the chute. The wall dinged cheerily and a cup fell down into the first hole. A second ding preceded a stream of water that filled the cup halfway. Gerard snatched it and downed the thing, accidentally swallowing the pill on the way. He’d planned on spitting it out, fuck.

 _OPEN WIDE_ the wall said.

“Fuck you,” Gerard spat. God, that little bit of water had just made him _more_ thirsty. He put the little cup back in the slot it had come from, hoping maybe he’d trigger another stream of water, but the wall just flashed the words at him.

Gerard hesitated. On the one hand, he didn’t want to do what BLI told him to. On the other, he suspected that if he played nice, he’d get more to drink.

He opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out for emphasis that he’d swallowed their stupid pill. 

The wall changed its text to: _GOOD BOY._

There was a second happy ding, and Gerard drank until he was full. When he put his cup in the trash chute, he gave the wall a sketchy salute.

The wall said: _SLEEP NOW._

“What?” Gerard asked, lightly scratching at the collar of his shirt when


	3. Hollowpoint

Gerard sat bolt upright, a jolt striking fear through his heart and probably through his eyes. He wished the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he slipped trying to stand up could actually beam out and destroy this stupid fucking building he was trapped in.

“What the fuck, what the _fuck_?” he asked, hoping that nobody would answer. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, his eyes were swimming, and his hands felt numb, fucking _numb_.

_YOU APPEAR TO HAVE DOZED OFF  
PARTY POISON_, the wall said.

“Ha ha fuck you,” Gerard snarled, knuckling the last of the sleep from his eyes. What a fucking _asshole_ the wall was. “And before you ask, I’m not going to take your fucking pills again. I’d rather die.”

_OH_ , the wall said. _GOOD._

“Really,” Gerard muttered.

_GREAT  
EVEN_

The wall was getting on Gerard’s nerves. Who was out there, giggling away as they typed this bullshit for him to read? _God_.

He shook out his arms, trying to figure out if it was the pills making his fingers tingle or if he’d maybe been sleeping on his hands. “You can let me waste away in here, I’d rather die than be under your fucking, like. Fascist rule. Or whatever.”

_YOU’LL LEARN_  
THAT YOUR ACTIONS  
HAVE CONSEQUENCES  
SOON ENOUGH 

“You keep teasing me, I might die from rolling my eyes too fucking hard.”

_OH_ , the wall said. _WOULDN’T THAT MAKE THINGS SO MUCH SIMPLER._

The wall dinged and a pill in a cup popped out.

_TAKE YOUR PILLS_  
OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES  
PARTY POISON 

Gerard snorted and scuffed the floor with his foot. “Yeah right,” he muttered. Fat fucking chance of him taking anything the wall was offering him, _especially_ after the last pill he’d taken. It hadn’t even been a remotely pleasant trip or anything, even. Just some kind of knockout serum. How bourgeois.

The wall didn’t change for a little while and Gerard moped around in a general sort of way, until something caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see that words were now appearing on the wall to his right.

_IN THAT CASE_ , it said, running into the wall at his back which read _WE’VE PREPARED A LITTLE_ to the wall that had been on his left which he spun to read the word _ENTERTAINMENT._

“Uh,” Gerard said, about to turn to the first wall with a witty comeback when he saw that it was displaying a video again. As clear as a sunny day out in the desert, Gerard could see Frank in a room just like Gerard’s from a fly on the wall sort of angle. Of course, instead of waiting around and bitching about his situation in life, Frank was doing pushups. Gerard could see his greasy hair moving as he breathed out each time he went down. The camera was so good that he could even see the sweat on the back of Frank’s neck, coating the arms of his scorpion tattoo.

A single arrow made of white light cut through the image, pointing left, and Gerard started, instinctively turning in the direction the arrow was pointing to see an image of Ray. Ray was feeling the edges of his room like he was looking for the door or some way of escape. He looked exhausted, like maybe he’d resisted taking the pills for as long as he could, like Gerard. Maybe longer.

Then a third arrow appeared, pointing to the next wall, which showed --

“Mikey,” Gerard breathed. He clamped his mouth shut in the next second. _Dumbass_. As far as Gerard knew, the Company didn’t know their real names. But that _had_ been when they had been wearing masks in the desert... maybe here they had facial recognition anyway and they were all just fucked no matter what.

The videos looked so real that Gerard went right up to Mikey’s wall and stretched his hand out, hoping he could settle the line between Mikey’s eyebrows. His brother, shaggy-haired and wonderful and _alive_ , so alive and Gerard was _so relieved_. And of course, he was running through his kung fu motions, kicking and punching and _living_ and wonderful and definitely much better at the moves than Gerard could ever hope to be.

_Hope_. Gerard hadn’t felt hope in for-fucking-ever, and here it was, in full force, in the form of his brother kicking the stupid white walls as hard as he could, one leg at a time.

Words flashed over the picture, and when Gerard turned he could see them over each camshot. Frank was sitting now, breathing heavily like he’d might have been doing pushups for a lot longer than the wall had been showing Gerard a glimpse into the other man's room. Ray was still searching, going around the room like it contained secrets he just knew he could find.

The words were:

_WILL YOU TAKE YOUR PILLS  
PARTY POISON?_

Gerard looked over at the one white wall and thought for a moment. “No way,” he said.

 

_DO YOU ACCEPT  
THE CONSEQUENCES?_

 

“I, uh,” Gerard said, throat dry as the words disappeared before he had a chance to agree or disagree. And then doors were opening, and Gerard could hear them, could hear the soft slide of the doors and the pad of black boots on white plastic before he saw the Crows. He noticed as he turned wildly to look at each of his friends, that Ray was as white as a sheet, Mikey looked confused, and Frank...

Frank was right beside where the door opened into the hallway. Ready. Like he’d moved the second he’d heard the door opening. Like he knew what was about to happen.

Crows spilled into the rooms, guns raised. They backed each Killjoy into a corner, and paused. The concentric circles of their bodies were too neat on Gerard’s walls. So neat that Gerard backed himself up so he could see everything better, wouldn’t have to jerk his neck about as much.

“Make your choice,” a pleasant intercom voice said. “You have five seconds.”

Gerard swallowed. He licked his lips, even though his mouth was dry as bone. The wall dinged cheerfully, once. Twice. Three times.

“Mi -- Kobra,” Gerard said. “Kobra Kid.”

Gerard saw Ray tilting his head up to the ceiling in his room, saw the frown that creased his forehead as the wall shut up. Almost like he’d heard.

“Thank you, Party Poison,” the intercom said.

The Crows in Mikey’s room filed out, one by one, leaving Mikey behind with his shaking hands raised. Mikey looked around, his face lost and confused, and his wall faded.

“No,” Gerard said. He was about to reach for the image when he heard the too-familiar sound of guns cocking.

“Extermination in five,” the intercom said.

Gerard saw Frank move on _four_ , reaching boldly for the white gun and shoving it back into a soft stomach. He kept moving, even as lights started to flash in his tiny room. He was almost a blur as he leaned and kicked and slid and took _down_ Crows. It looked like he was winning, too, until the intercom timer reached the inevitable _one_ and then Ray was moving too, both Killjoys fighting for their lives against what seemed like insurmountable odds.

They fought tooth for tooth and cut for cut, both taking as many punches as they gave out, especially as Frank’s fight wore on, Gerard could see him staggering and slowing, as Crows kept piling in, undaunted by the pile of bodies.

It was only a matter of time, though. All it took was Frank losing his footing from a puddle of Scarecrow blood and then the Crows were on him, hitting his face, holding him up by the hair and levering punches at his stomach and legs. Ray faltered in his clever fighting style when Frank cried out after a particularly brutal hit, almost like he could also hear the smaller man, and then he was down too.

Ray, at least, went quietly. He dropped to his knees when too many Crows had guns leveled at his head. His good eye was open wide, the black eyepatch still affixed to his head.

Frank kept fighting back. He somehow got his head free and then he was kicking and biting, trying to duck away even though there was blood slipping its way down his face. It painted his skin like a mask, but even the devilish animal spinning around the room couldn’t keep it up forever.

“Stop, stop, fucking _stop_ ,” Gerard urged him. He flinched away from the screen when a Crow tripped Frank and kicked him in the side. And _still_ , that made Frank spit and slide, trying to get away away, but a Crow got wise and reached down, tangling their fingers in his dirty hair. They pulled him just high enough so they could slam his head into the ground, _hard_. Even Ray winced at the sharp crack.

There was silence then, and Gerard had his hands slapped over his mouth, holding his breath until he heard Frank’s low groan. _Still alive. Still ready to fight._

_Fuck._

The screens waited for a moment, as Frank moved his hand ever so slowly.

And then arrows flashed again, directing Gerard’s eyes to what had once been Mikey’s wall. There was visible static for a moment, in place of the crystal clear image he’d become used to, and then a picture buzzed its way in.

_Security footage_ , the bottom corner read. _Better Living Industries’ B Building, Under Attack._

The screen shorted out and then Gerard could see, clear as day, _himself_. Up against the wall in that godforsaken lobby, dirty and in black and white, but momentarily alive until Korse stepped up to him. The rest of the battle raged on around the event, and Gerard looked away from the end of the story he’d already been through, to Mikey as Korse pulled the trigger. His brother’s face twisted in rage and he leaped to action, shouting at the top of his lungs. There was no sound, but Gerard could read his brother like an open book.

And there was Frank, and Ray, pulling Grace between them, and then Ray and Grace were out and Gerard hoped against all reason that Frank had followed them, that he hadn’t...

But of course he had. Of course he’d gripped the glass doors tight and pulled them closed so Grace could get away. He turned around, too, Fun Ghoul in his hands and his eyes, and started shooting with fierce determination, protecting Mikey, ignoring everything until he got shot in the shoulder, which was when his aim faltered. The footage slowed down and Gerard could see Frank’s shots hitting arms and legs as Mikey ignored everything and ran towards Korse, who just turned and laughed as Mikey fell to the ground.

And then Frank had stopped shooting, and, wait. What had happened there that Gerard had missed?

As though it was reading his mind, the screen rewound to Mikey running after Korse and Gerard cast his eyes around wildly until he saw a shot leave a gun and fly through the air. It hit home, nestled itself deep in the red leather of Mikey’s jacket, and Gerard froze. The flash of light had come from _Frank._

The video rewound itself again, and Gerard shook his head. “That didn’t happen,” he said.

The wall drew a bright green circle around Frank. _FUN GHOUL,_ it labeled. A red circle appeared around Mikey, where the wall read _KOBRA KID._

It sprung into action again, and this time when Frank moved his gun from a Crow target and pulled the trigger, the light of his laser traced a bright green path across the screen, right until it hit Mikey’s heart.

Gerard’s legs gave out on him and he sat heavily on the white ground. He had to wrap his arms around his midsection to keep them from shaking as he tried to figure out what he’d just seen.

“There’s no fucking way,” he said, his voice desperate, and this time when the wall replayed the video, Gerard looked away. Ray was staring at something in the distance, his own eyes wide. Gerard glanced over at the Mikey wall to see his brother there now in place of the video, an expression of mingled horror and nausea apparent in his entire form.

Frank coughed piteously, and Gerard only glanced over to see that he’d pushed himself to his hands and knees somehow. There was only one Crow left in his room, and that Crow was holding a gun pointed at Frank’s head.

Frank, too, was watching a wall out of the corner of one eye. They must have the same wall screens that Gerard did. A sick look of dismay was present on Frank’s face. Disappointment. Grudging acceptance. He closed his eyes and let his head hang on his neck as though he’d almost given up.

“Make your choice,” the intercom said. Frank spat blood on the white ground. He looked up, but Gerard could see that there was no hope shining through the red coating on his face. His eyes had a look of sharp pain in them, almost like the pangs shooting through Gerard’s stomach. Franks’ nose was starting to swell, and Gerard could see blood seeping through the layers of his white clothes in a straight line, like maybe in the room of white suits there had somehow been a Crow carrying a knife.

Gerard shook his head in disbelief. “You must choose, Party Poison.”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, swallowed down the bile. Frank. Had shot Mikey. Gerard couldn’t even tell if it had been on purpose or not, but did it really matter? 

Memories suddenly came flooding back: Frank in the diner, facing the Blackbird who had hunted them down. Surrounded by dead Draculoids and dead Scarecrows and _death_. Frank, remorseless but still Gerard had thought he was protecting them, watching their backs as they had watched his. He was their friend, Gerard had thought at the time. Maybe even more than that...

But then Frank, limp in the Blackbird’s arms with a hand over his eyes. Brainwashed? Trained? Gerard didn’t even know. Was he a double agent? He hadn’t thought so at the time, because the Blackbird had so viciously pulled a knife through Frank’s cheek – and the blood, everywhere, seeping into everything surrounding Frank it seemed. Blood, blood everywhere _but not a drop to drink._

But if Frank _was_ a double agent… had he seen that they were losing the fight, seen Gerard fall at Korse’s hands and decided to choose his other side? Had he pushed Jet Star outside to the crowd of waiting Draculoids? Had Grace been recaptured by agents of the Company standing beside Jet Star’s fallen corpse? Had he then shot Mikey as a final act of cleaning up before surrendering to the guns only _he_ knew for certain he could wake up from?

Had Frank, all along, with every look and touch and kiss, been working for the very thing Gerard and his brother had been fighting tooth and nail to exterminate?

With every second of Gerard’s silence, he saw the look on Frank’s face change. Slowly transforming, almost painfully, into someone who might be holding onto a shred of hope that he _might_ still be wanted.

But Gerard didn’t know. He wasn’t sure now, and if that had been the Company’s goal all along, then bra-fucking-vo. Jet Star had a kid, was an integral part of Gerard’s life, but Frank was _Frank_. Frank was colour and a vicious blade but a soft smile.

But now... Gerard didn’t _know._

He used to _know_ , to the bottom of his soul. But now he couldn’t remember the feeling of Frank’s hand on his, but he sure as shit could remember Frank’s determined look as he shot _Mikey._

He wrapped his arms around himself and said, understanding now that the intercom went to all three of their rooms, that his decision would be broadcast to every fabulous fucking Killjoy: “Jet Star.”

Ray said “Fuck,” in the tiniest voice Gerard had ever heard from the big man. He practically collapsed in relief as the Crows filed out of his room but there was pain in his face, too. Probably the same pain Gerard was experiencing.

“Thank you Party Poison,” the intercom said, in an incredibly pleased voice.

Frank looked like he was choking back something when the Crow cocked its gun. Tears, maybe. Remorse. He let his head fall down again and his shoulders slumped momentarily.

With the next breath, Gerard watched as Frank pushed himself to his feet and glared through tear-rimmed eyes at the solitary bird. The desperation to survive from earlier was almost entirely gone. This was a man who knew he had been chosen to die. This was the Fun Ghoul Gerard had first met, the one who couldn’t imagine ever being a part of a family. The Fun Ghoul who’d attempted to run across the desert instead of staying where people could help him.

The Fun Ghoul who had shot Gerard’s brother. Cold, helpless, hopeless, and alone.

“Extermination in five.”

Frank’s face hardened, and his muscles tensed as he crouched slightly, spreading his feet as best as he could among the corpses littering the floor, trying for proper balance.

“Four.”

Ray and Mikey were both watching a wall intently just like Gerard, their eyes fixed on Frank’s. They were like two hardened lumps of flint, ready to spark even though the cost would be layers of its own skin.

“Three.”

Frank was breathing evenly now, his fingers flexing unconsciously.

“Two.”

And then he smiled, a cold look on his face. He was ready. _Fun Ghoul_ , not Frank, would do whatever it took to stay alive.

“One.”

The Crow holding its gun at Frank flung it arms in the air and shouted: “SURPRISE!”

Frank started. He was visibly shocked at the sharp voice and high giggle that cut into his room. Gerard was so tensely leaning forward, he’d stood ages ago but couldn’t remember when.

“Surprise, surprise, _surpriiiiiise_!” the Crow trilled. It tore off its mask and the head of brown hair and row of gleaming teeth that the motion revealed would have made Gerard sit down on his cot, hard if he hadn’t already collapsed earlier.

“ _You_ ,” Frank snarled, before a wracking cough seized his chest. Blood flecked the hand that he put out to cover his mouth when he pulled it away.

“Me!” the Blackbird exclaimed. It beamed. “You remember me! Hi there, Frankie. Sorry about smashing your head like that. And slicing up your arm. And trying to twist your ankle. I have appearances to keep up around these fools, you know.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Frank spat, his hands twitching at his sides.

“Sorry about that minor stab wound in your side, too,” the Blackbird said. “I really couldn’t stop myself from bringing a knife to a gunfight. It just makes everything, like, _loads_ more fun.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Frank said, in a low voice, like it was a promise.

The Blackbird rolled its eyes and cocked its hip to the side. “Uh huh. _You’re_ gonna kill me. _Right_. I mean, it would make things even I guess.”

Frank spat, his saliva red. “For when you cut up my fucking face?”

“No, _silly_ ,” the Blackbird said. “For when _I_ shot _you_ earlier. _Obviously_.”

“In the fight just now?” Frank asked, clearly scanning himself quickly for burn wounds.

“When you and your stupid friends invaded my home,” the Blackbird said. “Wait. You didn’t know? I thought you’d seen, you would have been so proud, Frankie. I used the stupid modified gun your red-jacketed worm of a friend left behind! Well. I say friend, but you shot him, so I guess you probably aren’t really all that close, huh?”

Frank reeled back like he’d been slapped in the face.

“Okay, I’m obviously not being clear enough,” the Blackbird said. “And you don’t even seem to remember me? So rude. Let me start again. Hi, my name is Kenneth. I gave you that gorgeous scar on your face, which really makes you look a lot more attractive. You know, _hard_. So cool. And also I killed you, like earlier this week. Plus also the other injuries which I mentioned having given you today. And you are?”

“Going to kill you,” Frank said, more calm than Gerard had ever seen him.

“Your _name_ ,” Kenneth said. “That other bullshit is just nonsense nobody really believes. Not even you, I'm sure.”

Frank paused. “Frank,” he finally said. Not Fun Ghoul. Just Frank. He’d shed the last of the Killjoys off his shoulders, but whose fault was that? Was it Frank’s fault, or was it really Gerard’s own doing?

“Lovely to meet you,” Kenneth said. “And now I guess I have to follow my orders. Extermination, et cetera.”

“Kenneth, maybe I wasn’t clear with you either,” Frank said, and was he closer to the Blackbird than he’d been before? Gerard couldn’t remember seeing him move.

“Oh?” Kenneth asked, smiling as though to a child. “And what were you not clear on?”

“You’re not here to kill me,” Frank said. “I’m here to kill _you_.”

Kenneth laughed airily. “OK Frankie. You can believe whatever you want.”

He pulled the trigger, but Frank had already moved out of the path of the laser. When the beam hit the wall, it ricocheted and came back towards the pair but Frank was ready for that too. He was running, then sliding, down between Kenneth’s legs as the light beam pulsed into Kenneth’s shoulder.

The Blackbird yelped as the light burned into its skin and then screeched as Frank, on his way through the legs, hooked an ankle and pulled Kenneth down.

Kenneth twisted, landing hard on one hand but rolling into a recovery pose which he turned into a lunge, right at Frank. Frank turned and let Kenneth sail past him. Kenneth, realizing he hadn’t snared his prey, bounced off the wall in a spectacular backflip. He managed to get a hand on Frank’s shoulders and tugged the man down with him.

Frank grunted as he fell but got a leg under him quickly enough to kick Kenneth’s gun away from the two of them.

This time when Kenneth lunged it was knife first. Frank ducked under a swipe, dodged a second but got nicked once, twice, three times. The pair of them circled each other, breathing hard. There was a wild look in Kenneth’s eyes, beside the concentration, but Frank’s held nothing but cold determination.

“Out in the desert,” Kenneth said, swiping wildly, almost erratically. Frank ducked again, careful where he put his feet as the Dracs were still lying on the floor. He had to clamber up and over one prone form, stumbling a bit and receiving a cut on the arm for his efforts.

“Out,” Kenneth puffed, “In the desert, Korse told me to stay behind.” He hopped over a Scarecrow, almost tripping. The wild glint in his eyes spread to his manic smile. “But I thought that was bullshit. So I dressed up as a stinking Drac, you know?” He laughed and stabbed, six quick jabs, which missed Frank but not by much.

Kenneth laughed again. “Oh you should have seen the look on your face, Frankie! I mean I couldn’t at first because you stupid Killjoy-whatevers had your stupid masks on, but _God_ , after you all were dead on the ground I pulled off your mask just to see and fuck me if that isn’t just the most satisfying feeling.”

Frank faltered, and then Kenneth was in his face and Frank had only barely caught the knife point in one hand as it was thrust towards the other side of his mouth. Kenneth had him backed up against the wall, grinning madly as he pushed the knife and pinned Frank with his other hand. “You… were there?” Frank asked, turning his face away. His arm was shaking and Gerard couldn’t tell if it was with anger or just the strain of keeping Kenneth at bay.

“Oh Frankie, Frankie,” Kenneth breathed. “I have _always_ been there. They made me right after your release, did you know that? My purpose has always been to watch _you_. To keep track of you. And so what, if I killed you once or twice or maybe three or four times? I’m sure I’m the only one who’s done it. Killed the greatest disappointment Blackbird has ever faced. _Four fucking times_ , too, holy shit! What a record to make my momma proud.”

With the hand not holding the knife, Kenneth reached up to trace at the scar he’d made on Frank’s face. Frank flinched bodily, and the knife slipped through his slick hand so that the point just touched his other cheek.

“Frankie, so precious. Frankie so innocent and pure. You are so _blind_ to everything around you. That’s why they had to get rid of you, but you keep coming back like an unwanted pest. When the Director told me I was given this special mission yet again, I knew I couldn’t let her down. I had to kill the precious Frankie once and for all.”

The lights flickered. Frank’s eyes shot up and then back to Kenneth as the knife pressed a little closer, drawing a dot of blood from his cheek.

“Oh and it was so _easy_ too,” Kenneth said as the video cut in and out. Then the feed was back, as strong as it had been before. “She told me to kill you all but you first, and to demoralize the rest. And you made it easy, of course. You were there, trying to save your little friends and all I had to do was put on hand on your greasy red-jacketed partner at the right time for the _most_ gentle push, and poof! Down for the count. And I got it all on camera too!” He laughed again and then the knife was gone and Kenneth’s arm was across Frank’s throat. Frank scrabbled at the arm, clearly trying to get a breath in.

“So, so easy,” Kenneth laughed, pressing harder. “Show that to the other Killjoys and boof! There you are! First in line for the stake. I only wish I could see the looks on their faces, but you know what? I can just look at it later.”

Gerard’s eyes were brimming with tears. Why would they show this to them? Was this to demoralize them further? Get him to make this impossible choice and then show him how stupid he had been to do so?

A soft hiss to Gerard’s right was the only thing that drew his eyes from the sight of Frank’s eyes closing in grim acceptance.

The door.

_Was open._


	4. Smile

Frank struggled to breathe. Kenneth was holding him up against the wall with one arm, just high enough that Frank’s toes could barely brush the ground. He was sure that he had seconds to figure out how to get Kenneth off him, but no plan was forming in his mind. The lack of oxygen to his brain didn’t help, but he wished…

Well, he wished a lot of things. The list was longer than his arm. The item at the top of his list was that he hadn’t shot Mikey. Knowing that Kenneth had pushed his friend into the path of his laser didn’t help him much, because nobody but he would ever find that out.

He assumed that the company had been broadcasting Kenneth’s little video compilation to the other Killjoys in their rooms, since he’d heard Gerard’s distinct voice through the loudspeaker, choosing everybody but him to get a chance to live.

It wasn’t the first time he’d died, but it was the first time any of his friends had shot him in the back so to say. He supposed it was quid pro quo since he had shot Mikey but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Frankie,” Kenneth whispered, “I got one last secret for you, bud. I’m gonna let you hear it as you fade away from this cruel world.”

A black haze started to grip at the edges of his vision and Frank knew he wasn’t going to make it back from this death.

Kenneth’s face was all he could see, in excruciatingly clear detail as his own grip on the Blackbird’s arms lessened. The sharp blue of his eyes, the sweat beading at the edge of his hairline. The mole above his left eyebrow. He could see the hairs starting to edge their way out of his nostrils and the uneven edge of stubble along the man’s chin.

“The secret is –“

And then Frank was gone. He was sure of it because he could hear a faint hissing noise and he’d read somewhere about how that and a light at the end of a dark tunnel was what you got when you died. Probably like, it was his soul ascending to the heavens or wherever you went when you died if you’d killed more than ten or so people. If Crows counted as people anymore… Frank wasn’t a hundred percent clear on the details about the matters of the soul.

He felt the pressure on his neck lessen and then it was like he was floating. Fly, fly away little bird.

Only, his knees hit something that felt an awful lot like a ribcage, and something sharp pricked at his fingers and then.

Then he was coughing up at least one if not two lungs out of his chest.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped because among some downright heady buzzing in his ears, he felt pain start to radiate in, from his lungs and side and throat. There was a blazing inferno roaring its way through his throat, his eyes were watering, and then all the puzzle pieces came together.

Somehow he was alive. He was kneeling on a downed Scarecrow, coughing and bleeding and _alive_.

Either the magic that brought him back from a ray gun worked on chokeouts too or something had stopped Kenneth.

Dazed, Frank looked up to see Mikey fighting with Kenneth, hand to hand.

Mikey. Fighting for Frank.

Noises came back then, among the buzzing of a hundred bees, and he could hear words being formed between the hard sounds of bones and muscles making hard, sharp contact.

“You stupid –“

“Worthless–“

“You can’t win–“

“Who opened that door, I’ll _kill them_ –“

All Kenneth. Mikey was silent and his eyes were deadly but Frank could see that even though Kenneth was puffing as he snapped out sharp syllables, he was clearly gaining the advantage over Frank’s lanky friend.

A knife. Frank opened his mouth to say that Kenneth had a knife, to warn Mikey, but only a rasp and a cough came out, tearing his throat again.

Except the fingers of Frank’s right hand, slick with blood, remembered that they were holding onto something sharp, something lethal, something _dropped_.

The knife.

Kenneth didn’t have it anymore.

Frank did.

He stared at the sharp blade for only a second before he realized what he had in front of him. The door opening had saved Frank’s life and now Mikey was fighting for his. He saw an unusual movement out of the corner of his eye and realized Gerard had joined the fight. Not that he was doing much good, since his kung fu _really_ sucked, but at least it gave Kenneth pause. He had to fight close to his limits at least, which may actually slow him down.

They were trying to take down the Blackbird. Frank knew they couldn’t. But he did know that they might buy him enough time to do the deed.

He moved now, trying not to be noticed as he gingerly gripped the handle of the knife between his fingers. He had to cut a few strips of Scarecrow white jumpsuit to wrap around his hands. They were bleeding too much to offer any reasonable grip on the already slick handle.

He cursed as he dropped the knife and then Ray was by his side, hair just absolutely everywhere and the most beautiful sight Frank had probably ever seen.

The big man didn’t say anything, just finished cutting a long strip before he wrapped Frank’s hands tightly, giving his wounds pressure and his palms some help. He could have been up there with Gerard and Mikey but somehow instinctively knew that Frank had to be the one to finish the deed.

Not that he could have done it without his friends.

Frank met Ray’s eye briefly as the big man finished the last knot and handed him the knife, handle first. There was understanding and acceptance there, above the twisted anger and despair. Ray trusted him to do this right, trusted that Frank still had their backs even through everything that had happened.

Frank gripped the knife, ignoring the pain and turned towards the battle.

He took a moment to calculate his trajectory, noticing that his time was surely running out as Kenneth leaned to the side and lashed out a hard kick at Gerard’s temple that dropped the greasy-haired man and helped him duck Mikey’s punch at the same time.

“You’ll never beat me,” he huffed as he turned his full attention to Mikey, anger blazing from his every angle.

“I don’t need to, motherfucker,” Mikey spat and then rolled away when Frank leaped on Kenneth’s back.

Frank held on for dear life, even as Kenneth slammed them both into the ground in an attempt to shake Frank from his back. But Frank held on tight, willing his arms and legs to keep gripping even as his entire body exploded into pain from the movement. His breath was pushed from his lungs and his eyes clenched shut but he didn’t need to see. He only needed to feel a pulse before he let the knife do the talking for him.

It didn’t take long for Kenneth to die, but it felt like an eternity. This wasn’t like any of the other times he had killed before: they’d always been wearing masks or brainwashed or worse. And never had he been forced to hold on to the dying person. With a knife, he’d been able to pin a target 50 yards away without having to feel the tremors pass through every muscle as the body fought for a way to close up the wound.

Frank held on tight though, and didn’t let go until he felt Mikey’s hands tugging at his shoulders.

“He’s dead, man,” Mikey croaked, in a voice thick with unshed tears. “You can let go.”

But Frank knew that could never be true.

He released Kenneth, finally, turning him onto his front so he wouldn’t have to look the Blackbird in the eyes. He didn’t need to see it to know that there wouldn’t be anything left there, knew that it was what Kenneth had wanted so badly to see out in the desert, and finally here.

There was blood everywhere and Frank didn’t know any longer which belonged to him.

He let Ray pull him to his feet, let Mikey check his wounds, but he felt heavy. Empty and heavy and so, so tired. He swiped a hand across his face and realized he was crying.

“You got him,” Ray said. “It’s okay, Frank.”

“You don’t get it,” Frank rasped. His voice felt small even though it felt like he might weigh 500 pounds of pure grief. “That could have been me.”

“But it wasn’t,” Ray said.

“But it could have been!” Frank exclaimed, or tried to. He ended up coughing a bit more, and spitting out some blood. “That was what they wanted from me all along. For me to do that. Don’t you see? They won.”

“They didn’t,” Mikey said, firmly. Like he knew what he was talking about. Frank turned on him, anger ready to rise out of his mouth in a tirade but the look on Mikey’s face was so fierce it stopped him. “They didn’t win. He would have killed you just to do it, Frank. _That’s_ what they wanted. Not this. Not you fighting for the people you love. That’s why he pushed me and recorded it and showed it to us all. _That’s_ the company winning. But this…”

“Mikey’s right,” and it was Gerard speaking, holding one hand to his head. His left eye was squinted shut against the pain but he was standing, and Frank remembered so vividly those seconds before he had pushed Ray and Grace out the front doors. Korse pulling the trigger and smiling so cruelly. Hell, Frank even remembered being zipped up into the body bag later.

Frank felt Ray wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him into a tight half-embrace.

Gerard stepped closer, looking guilty. “I’m sorry about which one of you I picked,” he muttered. “Not that I would have chosen differently… I mean, you had the best chance out of all of us, but… well, it was fucked up of me, Frank. But Mikey’s right, I mean. You aren’t one of them.”

_But am I one of you?_

Frank didn’t know. Maybe he was. Ray was there, holding him tight. Mikey was there eyeing up the stab wound in his side. And Gerard was right in front of him, not exactly holding out a hand in friendship but he could have just tried to leave when the doors opened. But instead he was here, in Frank’s room, rubbing his head where he’d been kicked trying to save him.

They had to be friends. If this wasn’t friendship, the Frank didn’t know what was.

He sniffed back some of the tears and tried to straighten up. “Killjoys never die,” he said finally, trying his best to grin.

Gerard smiled fully, teeth and all, and reached one hand out to rest on Frank’s shoulder and the other on Ray. Mikey grumbled but put his hand on Gerard’s arm.

“Killjoys never die.”


End file.
